Genesis Two Point Eight
by PrincessIxi
Summary: Adam dooms mankind by eating the forbidden apple. So does Kira. After Mello's death, Near reflects. AT. Dedication to Trish


**Title **Genesis Two Point Eight

**Rating **PG-15

**Warnings **Minor violence, character death and people with strong religious beliefs might squick at

**Category **Death Note, AT

**Pairing/s **/

**Summary **Adam dooms mankind by eating the forbidden apple. So does Kira. After Mello's death, Near reflects. AT. Dedication to Trish.

**Author's Note **Was looking at Wiki the other day. Interesting to see that I've been using AU out of context in some of my fictions. Oooh X3 So this is AT (Alt Timeline )

My English teacher past away today, and I didn't want to post this fiction up until I'd reviewed over it a bit more so hopefully there aren't to many mistakes/ strange parts. But I think someone's telling me it's time to put it up.

**Disclaimer **I do not own Death Note, but sort of wish I do, because I would like to think I can come up with brilliant story lines too.

* * *

**Dedication - **To the most amazing English teacher in the world. If you'd read this, I really hope you would have been proud, eheh. . RIP 25-5-10

* * *

Feathery wings cut the air currents.

The weight of thick leather, gothic chains and skulls ring against one another as he lands with a rattle of bones.

The graveyard is quiet this time of day, street life distance from here.

The man turns, holding a wooden urn.

"Where shall we do this then?"

* * *

It has been like any other day.

Hal bids them goodbye, setting off to the worse day job in the world, Rester makes himself comfortable behind a laptop and steamy mug of wake me up, Gevanni briefly signs in yawning that all is well, and Near amuses himself on the ground with a modified game of Mouse Trap.

But there have been oddities.

When Hal had come in, her face was pale- not a foundation disaster- but a look of real distress. It tipped Near off right away that something was wrong. She lied to Rester when he'd asked she was okay, stating that she's _tired_.

Like anybody believes that one anymore.

Near believes that being a good detective and being chronically paranoid go hand in hand.

Near's doll eyes follow the tiny metal ball that rides the elevator, destination a spring board, his thoughts are miles away. Hal's face. And it feels like the answer is right _there_, if he sticks out his hands and grabs he might just take hold of it. What if it's not even to do with the case? Hal has a life outside of this sterile world, this makes Near frown as he most certainly _doesn't _and that is slightly sad, and it could be a number of domestic things. Not case related at all.

The elastic bands tighten as the elevator reaches its fullest height. Near hovers his hand behind the ball, hand positioned in an _okay_ sign.

_Could it be Mello?_

He flicks his pointing finger off his thumb, and the ball bounds away, slipping down the hole in the spring board and tumbles and whirls down a slide hand made for this very purpose. The ball shoots out the end, smacking over a finger puppet mouse.

Nervously, Near rubs at a white hair strand.

Mello, Mello. He hasn't thought much of the man from when he'd burst, uninvited, into their old headquarters. A few times they have digitally communicated; sometimes Matt unexpectedly sends him a text asking what brand of chocolate Mello likes best, or advice on his moody outbursts.

Near says white Lindt, and buy him a puppy maybe that will help. Surprised Matt takes him _seriously._

He only suspects Mello because, really, he is the only outside contact related to the case Hal has that would _cause _worry.

As of late- nothing. Mello has been strangely quiet, and Near doesn't believe that bomb blast has tamed him in ways a light flare startles a lion into backing down. In fact. . it's deeply unsettling of _how_ quiet Mello has been. Near likes it when he's active, no matter how spontaneous.

Now he's thought of it, Near can't let it go. Why has he not considered Mello before this? Is he really that arrogant into thinking Mello _will_ be good and behave for once? No. He stops playing with his hair, chewing his bottom lip agitatedly and puts both hands between his legs, drumming his fingers on the tiles.

Mello and Hal are uneasy allies, it wouldn't be so far fetch as to say _this _is what's behind Hal's behaviour? Is it the same speculations running through his busy head, or- no. Possibly Mello's contacted her _again_, said something that's made her this way. . . said what? His latest plan, that shouldn't worry her unless it's something petty about lying to the SPK but then she would have been like this before.

"Mmn," Near rubs between his eyes, dragging his right hand through his wild curls. So tired. .

The case is nearly in the bag, only a few more days to go until D day, and if Mello _is _planning something, it better not run into his own full proof one.

"Near, are you okay? You haven't moved from that spot in nearly half an hour," Rester's voice punctures his bubbles of thought. He fidgets on the ground, noticing both his legs are cramped, right one a little numb. Like a lazy snake, Near uncoils himself, sliding onto his stomach and puts his feet into the air. Both limbs sigh in relief. He picks up the block of fake cheese that is below the suspended cage.

"I am just thinking."

"Of what?"

He tumbles the cheese over his fingers, letting it rest on the back of his hand like a knuckle bone piece. He glances to his army of finger puppets that sit innocently on the Mouse Trap box. "Of Mello. He has been unusually quiet."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Rester grunts, contempt clear in his voice. He doesn't forget- nor forgive- who was pointing the gun at Near's head quite so easily as Near himself does. Near hums, picking up the mini Mello and mini Hal. Rester always sees what is in _front _of him, never what is beyond the white picket fence. He puts Mello under the cage, Hal just outside it.

"No. It's not. Good, that is," Near narrows his eyes, putting the cheese piece in with Mello. "What am I missing? What aren't I seeing?" he mutters furiously. What connects these people? Apart from the obvious. He glances over the other mini SPK members, arranging them on the playing board. Then to Kira- Light Yagami- whom he places on top of the cage. Near brushes his eyes over X-Kira, shuffling him closer to Gevanni and he is about ninety nine percent sure Mello has no knowledge of Mikami- the one percent is Hal. That leaves Takada who is guarded by Hal.

Hal and Takada. Mello and Takada? Is it so odd to think that? Is this the connection? But the real question is _why_. What purpose is there in going after Takada? She wouldn't be good as a hostage, Kira would simply kill her. Mello has no gain if he involves himself with her. Near has replaced the pages in Mikami's Death Note, his plan is perfect _nothing_ can go wrong- but what _if_ something is wrong, a nasty voice says in the back of his mind. What if Kira has suspected you would tamper with the Note book and has done something about it, the sly voice says. This is the voice Near has been avoiding. The voice of What If. And it can go on and on, like a tangled piece of string.

I'll tamper with the Note book, but what if Kira knows I've tampered with it and does something to prevent it, however I've suspected him of doing just that and made double sure I've replaced it fully- but what if Kira _again_ thinks of that and changes it _yet again_, but I've also thought of that and-

Yes. Like chasing your tail.

But- _what if the Note book I had replaced was fake to _**begin**_ with?_

And if that's the case, the only way to test that theory out is to_ use_ the Note book and- and. .

All Near's thoughts still, like the calm after the rush hour traffic and there is only one lonely vehicle on the road travelling home- Near comes to his answer.

He drops the cage over mini Mello's head.

* * *

Over thirty flickering monitors, all broadcasting different channels of the Japanese News. Near combs them all for signs of Mello. Realistically speaking, Hal will contact them first as she is right beside the one Near suspects Mello will target. The babble of Japanese dialogue flies in and out of his ears.

All this is not one hundred percent certain, as Near still wishes to believe Mello will keep his nose clean that way the both of them will survive this. . until a News Bulletin flashes across ten of the screens. _Either as a prank or actual kidnapping, only moments ago a smoke grenade was hurled from a car as Takada went in for her recording secession. She was taken away to a secure location and a chase has been given out to the car. . _

Near frowns. A smoke grenade? Surely that must be a distraction, executed by- oh Matt, always the loyal grunt was Mello really going to drag him into his mess?- and where _is_ Mello?

Hal calls in.

"Near, Mello just kidnapped Takada via motorcycle."

_Damnit_.

"You let him take her, didn't you?"

"I-I. . ."

"It doesn't matter. But this means I was right- the Note book was a fake all along. And now Mello. ."

He doesn't finish his sentence, bowing his head slightly as if in prayer.

"I'll follow them as best I can."

"Alright."

Her voice goes, and the hum of computers is extra loud without it.

* * *

Oh, oh the sweet irony of it all.

Hal leaps from the car, covering her mouth from all the smoke. The church is raging with fire- Hell has been thrown wide and is pouring her toxins everywhere- Hal isn't sure what is more bittersweet. The burning cross, or the fire itself. The worst way Mello can go.

No. He _isn't_ going to go, not if she can damn well help it. A chance, a small chance, he could still be alive. . .

Rushing forwards, Hal rips her jacket off, putting it over her head as she runs into the burning building. Already it's too painful to breath. The hems of her clothes sputter as fire catches and her skin is alive and wriggling with the pain of it all. But her mind is set. Mello will not go this way.

Her hands sizzle as she tries the truck handle. She goes for kicking it in instead. At the third blow it caves in and Mello's slumped over body is revealed. Is he still alive? Hal can't tell as her eyes stream with tears. The agent decides he must have been knocked unconscious. The flames have yet to get inside this part of the truck. Behind her, inside the big container crate, she can hear it roaring.

His leather protects him from the heat.

"Oh Mello, Mello," she tries to sob, grabbing one of his arms and hefting. His body comes away, legs catching over the gear box then something else. His cursed rosary. With a snarl, Hal yanks at it, and it breaks in her hand, beads scattering everywhere. The crucifix falls down between the seats.

Good riddance.

At last they are both out of the truck, and she protects both of their heads and runs blindly, one arm around Mello's waist, other holding her jacket between them. Smoke billows behind them as Hal falls onto the cold grass, rolling them together to kill the flames. Wheezing and coughing, Hal picks her self up, having to get out before the authorities arrive.

She lies Mello into the back seat, then scrambles into the front, briefly wiping her sweaty face then gunning the engine, putting as much distance between here and her next stop.

Finding a deserted location under the shade of a cluster of trees, Hal pulls over, horribly paranoid but needing to check on Mello. See if he's okay.

Going from one car door to the other takes an age, Hal realising that once she opens the back door. . she can't go back once she finds out the truth. The click is loud and makes her wince, the door smooth on its new hinges.

Mello is where she has thrown him, head back, arms and legs like a tossed aside mannequin. Hal takes in a sharp breath. It's okay it okay. He may still be unconscious from having inhaled all those fumes inside the truck. She-she refuses to acknowledge that neither doors of the truck were jammed, or the obvious signs that Mello had crashed into the Church- why, why a Church, it makes her want to yell, where the hell was God in the irony of all things?- someone may have made him swerve on the road, right? Crashes like this happen all the time.

_Not freak fires though_.

Hal crawls into the back of the car, leaning over Mello and gently turning his face towards her. His eyes, always slightly dead looking, are stretched wide in surprise like he has seen Death smiling at him, filmy and glassy. Hal's hands shake, jostling Mello's head, and she removes one and covers her trembling mouth, squeezing her eyes shut.

No no _no_.

* * *

When Hal walks in, she hardly makes it two steps into the room, before falling to the ground, Mello's body spilling from her arms. Rester leaps to his feet, alarmed at the sudden appearance and even more so with the body. He dithers on wither to comfort Hal or see to the still hot corpse.

"I could have stopped him. Why God didn't I stop him? I could have prevented this!" Hal howls, hands fast over her eyes as she cries and shakes. Rester puts a large hand over her shoulder, then kneels down to fully put his arm around her.

Quietly, Near joins them, eyes fixed on Mello's stuck in time face. "I don't believe anyone could have prevented Mello from doing this, Lidner," he says, voice hardly above his own breath. "The stubborn, stupid boy," Near looks away in distress, knotting a finger into his hair.

After a minute of sob punctured silence, Hal gulps down her messy sniffs, slowly pulls herself together.

"Commander Rester, please put the body into one of the bed chambers- it will become a morgue for now," Near orders, turning away.

"Near, d-don't you. . ." Hal says, then stops, unsure of how to finish.

Near's shoulders slump.

* * *

In his room, Near takes a small portable white board slate, and a black vivid marker, and methodically draws black lines across the board, left to right, left to right. He does this until there is no white left. Until blotting out the perfect whiteness calms his mind. Then he drops both objects, falling backwards onto his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

He's won.

But there's no happiness in this revelation.

Gevanni called in about half an hour after Hal, saying that Mikami had inexplicably gone to his safety deposit box. Once his business was done, the detective had unearthed a Death Note locked inside- the real one.

Near lets his thoughts spiral out of him, filling in the white space above his head, pathways forming from the clouds of thought, leading to difference scenarios and plots that could have worked, could have failed, could have been better, could have been worse. Was this Mello's genius idea of them working together? He could have told him and from there they could have worked out a better plan- not a self sacrificing one. Used another person, tried the Note book himself- anything.

Near slowly shakes his head, disbanding the clouds around him. No. That would have never worked. He's too noble to do either of those things or the many other options. And Mello to prideful to admit they needed to join forces, could only ring Hal in compensation. But was losing Mello really the only possible answer to this equation?

The biggest issue here is how Mello had been killed. Near sits up, leaning on his knee and staring at the blue duvet.

Was it Kira? Near can't see how that is possible, as Mello's real name is mum even to himself. But Kira- Yagami- _did_ know about the kidnapping, Near had confirmed it with him even _saying_ it was Mello behind it all.

And. . Yagami had been in contact with Takada, maybe had given her some Death Note pages in their private meetings but that leds back to the question of how they had gotten Mello's name.

Near leans over to his bed side table, picking up a well loved robot and clicking it's joint in and out of place, the smooth edges reassuring to his mad surge of hypothesises.

Did Takada have the Eyes? Or at the very least _somebody_ in the Police force had had them because he remembers their attack on Mello's hideout and possibly his name was revealed then, but the eye wielder was killed in the explosion because Mello wouldn't have survived this long. .

Near rubs at his own tired eyes.

Rester's yet to do an autopsy, who's to say Kira had murdered Mello? Maybe some idiot really had made him swerve and he'd died in the crash. It's clear that Mikami had got rid of Takada however, via Notebook.

He should have used the Notebook. That is the only logical solution Near can come up with at this stage. Swallowed his pride and _done_ it.

His bedroom door slides open. Hal is in the doorway. "Near, are you still up?" she only asks because the lights are off and Near is in bed. Her voice is slightly hoarse from crying.

"Sleep is the last thing on my mind," Near murmurs, perking his head up from his knee and looking at Hal with a curious expression. "Are you alright now Lidner?"

"Oh. . yes. I shouldn't have let my emotions get the better of me. Sorry you had to see me like that."

"Understandable. You were close to Mello."

"So were you Near."

The teenage prodigy plays with the head of his toy robot, finding her insinuation awkward to say the least. "We just happened to grow up in the same place. He pulled on my hair and threw things at me and declared his hatred towards me daily. I wouldn't say we were close."

Hal has moved closer to him during his speech, and now she gently pries the toy out of his hands, putting it defiantly on his bedside table. Next she rolls down the duvet and sheets of his bed, a gesture for him to snuggle down under them. Near looks at her blankly. "But you still liked him, didn't you. Even if he was a schoolyard bully."

Oddly that isn't a question.

Like Hal secretly _knows_ even when Near himself wouldn't have a clue, acting like a typical teenage boy and not wanting to acknowledge his emotions at all. "When you talk about him you. . . well. You look more approachable."

That really happens?

"I only notice because I'm constantly around you."

"I'll miss him," Near says a little unexpectedly, staring blankly off into space. Hal makes a soft noise and puts her arms are Near, resting her cheek atop his head. So sad for the boy who can't do it for himself. Like she wishes to cry on his behalf.

"Honey, it's okay."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to start crying," Near assures her, worming uncomfortably in her hold, closing one eye as his curls get caught in his lashes. "Maybe because his presence was already gone for so long, I'm used to the absence and it's not such a big deal. He's just another person who won't walk back into a room, people will notices he's gone at first, but will slowly forget about him over time. Even so. . it's still sad."

"Oh sweetheart, sometimes you need to cry about these things."

Does that make him a bad person? For not crying over it? They had a parasitic relationship at best. Like they needed one another to keep going. Now that Mello really is gone, and not simply walking out the headquarters' doors munching on his chocolate bar and throwing a casual comment over his shoulder because even then Near knew he would see him again- this time it's the knowledge he _won't_ be seen again. And its. . . like he's putting together a puzzle then realises the last piece is missing. Forever incomplete. Near stops his fidgeting and at last relaxes into the caring woman's touch, letting Hal cradle his head and touch down his back.

"I think you need a good night's rest, Near," Hal says at length. Sleep? He swears he hasn't slept properly for months now. At the thought of it, his eyes sag and his body cries out for rest.

"Alright."

"Do you want me to stay with you?" she asks, as Near crawls under the covers and pulls them right up to his nose. He wonders for whose benefit this is for. The thought of being alone in his white, sterile room is rather foreboding.

". . I want to be alone," he decides at last.

When Hal leaves, Near rolls to his side, eyes wide in the dark and following the moonbeams on his pillow.

* * *

Very rarely does Near dream, sleep being the last thing on his mind these days, and when he crashes, he burns the runway, brain too tired to conjure up images of fantasy lands.

However his mind goes against the grain this time, as his dream eyes become aware that he is indeed looking into his thought up images and fake feelings and touches under his socks and on his skin. Having not been outside for so long, the landscape is bleak like the headquarters, Near having hypothesised that dreams are simply the minds recollections of the day's events but in a jumbled up jigsaw puzzle kind of way.

So he can see headquarters in the landscape. The very white sky and harsh, electronic trees and bushes. There's a fence too, that slightly resembles the patterned lines on the tiles in the main room in the real world.

Mello sits on the fence, gazing out across the sterile dreamscape, wearing his high cut vest and customary leather accessories.

Near does a double take. In the course of his seventeen years, he very really dreams about his rival.

Resigning himself- this _is _his dream after all and maybe if he tries hard enough he could make Mello vanish- Near trots over to Mello, who still has his back to him. He drums his leather enclosed fingers on the wood of the fence, and the soft rustles and crunches indicate Near's added the detail of chocolate too.

"Near," Mello greets him without having to turn around- Near's a logical person, he can more or less control this dream Mello subconsciously. Though his thoughts of _turn into a rabbit_ have gone unheard. The white haired teenager scrambles up the fence which has grown slightly in size, leaving him feeling frustrated at the unpredictable nature of dreams.

Not answering, Near turns his head to watch the granite sky, the clouds thick and heavy like a wet sheep's pelt.

"I told you a couple of months ago that I would be the first to go. Do you remember?" Mello says, munching thoughtfully on his slab of chocolate, curiously looking at Near, face young and clean of the scars that had deformed him before his death.

"You didn't _tell _me. You made a comment that could be interpreted a number of ways."

Mello snorts like he can read right through Near's attempts of lying.

"Stop being a child and _grow up, _Nate," Mello's eyes, as black as his own, glare. Is he lecturing _himself_? Use of his real name seems like proof enough. A hot pain starts in his chest, and he can feel splinters cut under his nails as he digs them in out of anger.

"Back off," he snarls, not recognising his own voice, emotions spilling over, the freedom of a dream granting him that small ability. "The only child around here is _you_. Not thinking at all, it's small wonder you even survived this long. You're an idiot who got himself killed for what purpose? You know what, you _deserved_ to die- lesson learnt huh?- you were turning into what we were trying to prevent!"

"I won the fucking case for you, you ungrateful brat!" Mello spits in his face, breathe realistically smelling like chocolate. Splaying a hand over Near's pyjama top, Mello shoves him, cat grin flashing. "Well if you wanted me to cark it so badly, why the fuck are you dreaming about me? Pining after me, are you?"

"That's so grossly farfetched I'm not even going to bother wasting my time trying to deny it to you," Near rolls his eyes grumpily, smoothing down his rumpled front.

"Ohmygod if you could listen to yourself," Mello laughs out loud. "Actually you are. I _am_ you, Nate. You regret not having contacted him and didn't want him to die. The sooner you admit it, the happier you will be."

No. Near knows himself too, and that isn't so. He's accepted that Mello is no more and has moved on. He regrets nothing. He stares coldly at the dream Mello who is slowly licking at his chocolate. "Such a naive boy, you think that wrapping yourself up will protect you from the big, bad world? That it will confuse your enemies? Well Kira _knows _you're just a child, and knew you would never try out the Note Book- your biggest design flaw, Near."

Silence.

"Fine," Mello shrugs at his unspoken words, turning the candy bar over in his hand. As Near blinks, the chocolate transforms into a gun. And like the candy it once was, Mello licks the barrel of the gun, soft white metal shining with saliva as he runs his tongue down the good few inches of steel, teeth tripping over the groves. It would be erotic if his finger weren't stubbornly wrapped on the trigger, pressing down more and more. "If that's what get's you to sleep at night," he smirks at the joke and before Near can stop him, pulls the trigger firmly.

The bang is loud, his mind reliving the sound when one of his subordinates had committed suicide via gun. The spray of blood slaps over his face and through his hair a cry of "MELLO!" escaping him before he can choke it back down. Damnit _damnit no!_

Near wakes upright and arms out as if to grab the falling corpse, exhaling sharply.

He's snatching at moonlight.

Groaning out of frustration and disbelief, Near covers his face with the back of his hand, feeling it hot and damp, hoping it's just sweat and not tears.

He just wants to crawl back under the covers and hide from the world for a little while.

"Nng, damn you, why did you have to say that?" Near sobs, hands pushing hard against his eyes and feeling utterly humiliated.

* * *

Tripping into the computer suite, Nears smoothly logs his personal laptop online. It's morning, but still pitch black to be classed as night time. Grimly, Near taps away, pulling up a city map. Eyes roaming over the spider web of lines and jumble of names, he locates the place he wants.

His photographic memory takes care of the street signs, and he logs off without having to print a copy for reference.

As he makes for the exit, Near pauses outside the room that Mello's corpse rests in. Hand half way to the door knob, he thinks better of it.

Ignoring the rakes of civvie shoes by the door, Near does pull down an iron grey trench coat to fight off the night air. The doors lock automatically behind him. He takes his first step outside in months, the only other time he's been outside when he'd been forced out of their old building by Yagami.

It takes a good ten minute walk, and in that times he'd passed a number of drunks, a few night owls like himself, and a prostitute on nearly every street corner. Near pushes at the rusted gates of St Matthews, letting them squeal like an angry piglet. The courtyard is over grown and uncared for, but not in a bad way. There is a soft magic with the way the grass cracks the cobbled stones, and vines creep up the churches walls.

The disproportionate doors are slightly ajar.

It comes as no surprise to find it empty, pews grey in the darkness, sacrificial alter glowing white in the moonlight. Patches of dulled colour splash over the floor and pillars, the light falling through the stained glass windows that beautifully depict the Stations of the Cross. The pained face of Jesus looks down on his surroundings.

Bypassing the inviting pews, Near steps lightly to the front of the church, sliding to the floor and drawing his left knee up to his chest, head bowed.

He-he doesn't know why the hell he's here.

But any place is better than headquarters.

At Wammy's, every Sunday they had gone to Mass. Many of the children disliked it, Near thought it was rather uncanny how L would suddenly develop stomach cramps the night before so would be excused from going, and he wouldn't doubt that only he and Mello were the only ones that put up, even enjoyed it.

Near liked it because it was quiet.

The was a serenity about the place that enabled him to close his eyes and slip off peacefully during the sermons, yet still be dimly aware of every word the priest was murmuring. There were no children running and screaming down hallways, nobody yanking at his hair or shoving him over, no over welling pressure to be perfect in everything. Only a state of existing.

Mello was much the same.

Near would catch himself gazing at the older boy during the readings, face still and attentive, listening to every word like it would be on a test that afternoon. When his expression had been like that, free of clouds of anger or frustration, Near thought he had looked like one of the angelic sculptures littered around the graves outside, or praying in the church foyer. Face boyishly round as a stone faced cherub, golden hair over grown and curled, eyes black like the blank, pupiless eyes of the classical marble statues.

Coming to church must have struck a chord within Mello, as he'd worn a rosary for then on. It wasn't like he was a Christian, god, the very thought makes Near smile but maybe. . it was a kind of closure Mello has sort out as a child. Orphaned, bitter,_ second_, turning to God must have been his only comfort in those dark days.

God forgives, _listens_. Loves.

Sinking his chin on his knee, Near quietly thinks to himself that, really, he knows nothing about Mello. He knows he'd liked chocolate, idolised L, and hated him. And after having grown up together, that small list is rather pathetic.

* * *

The dead body is something one might see out of a horror movie. Skin sunken, drained of most bodily fluids, blisters everywhere. Hair limp, fallen out or scorched away.

"Near, are you sure you want to do this?" Rester asks, as the detective holds a blade in on hand, mouth covered up.

"Don't under estimate my skills, Commander," Near assures him, eyes fast on Mello's unrecognisable face. They both silently know that's not what he meant.

Patiently, skin is sampled, swabs taken, hair burnt in acid. Multiple x-rays show signs of internal damage- he did crash the van.

Pressing the blade firmly to Mello's bear chest, he shoves down, always surprised at the resistance a corpse puts up, then cuts down until the gleaming rib cage cracks open the skin. Rester murmurs his actions into a recording device.

Near can feel calmness wash over his body as spits of blood lick up his gloves and hands. As he mutilates Mello's body further. He smiles tightly underneath his mask. My god, this is how I'm getting closure, he things sickly to himself. Up to his elbows in Mello's innards and relishing in the carnage. He wants to squeeze at his heart until it deflates in his hand, rip out every gleaming organ and defile the body any way he can.

He doesn't even need to cut him open in the first place to know how he's died.

"Cause of death; heart attack."

* * *

After Kira's body is cremated, the ashes are placed into a wooden box, which Near carries with him as he walks up the city graveyard. Its mid afternoon, Rester waits for him in the car by the gates. Near doesn't see the point in telling what's left of his family what has happened. The ashes are his responsibility now.

As requested, they have buried Mello's here too, along side L. Near is still fighting to win ownership over Matt's body, which is still in police custody.

Near hates it how they have all ended up resting in foreign dirt.

The crumpled face of L's angel still bears the script _Justice Lies Here_. It's badly over grown with ivy and weeds, and Near starts to pull them away methodically. He hasn't been here in many years. Mello's grave plot bares a less elaborate stone head, nothing written on his. Near simply can't find a fitting enough sentence.

Suddenly, from over head, heavy wings beat.

A solid mass hits the ground behind him, bones snapping and metal accessories clashing together on hard leather. Ryuk folds his deformed wings into his boa like shoulder blades.

"Still here are you?" Near says at length, not turning around. If he'd gone back to his own realm in the space of Kira's death, he wouldn't have been able to see him. This means he has been hanging around for a month at least. Waiting.

"Wouldn't wanna miss the party," the Shinigami chuckles darkly.

Near stands up, cradling the wooden box under one arm, peering up into that ugly face. "Where shall we do this then?"

Ryuk glances around, making an exaggerate show if it. He never blinks, eyes massive and marble in appearance, and Near wonders if he ever had eye lids to begin with. Finally he points due west. "That hill over there. The one with the tree on it. It will have a pretty view when the sun sets."

Nodding, Near leads the way through the tomb stones, Ryuk hovering an inch behind him. Neither say another word until they reach the top of the gentle slope. He's right. The view is magnificent. It over looks the city, and has a clear view of the horizon. The tree planted here is old but strongly holds the hill in place.

"Do you want to say anything?"

Ryuk glances down at him, feathers ruffling in the soft breeze, ear studs flashing white silver. "Uum. . . goodbye Light. You were an ambitious man, and a great source of entertainment- or something. I won't miss you."

"Very nice."

He opens the lid of the box. Instead of scattering the ashes as it's typically done, Near quickly turns the box over, dumping them on the ground with a cruel expression. He grinds and stamps the soot into the earth with a heel, until the dislodged dirt covers them from view.

"Is that how humans bury another?"

"No. . but I won't let Kira's ashes fall over a world he nearly destroyed. Being one with the dirt is where he belongs."

Sniggering a little, Ryuk turns, exclaiming suddenly. "Hey, poetic justice after all. This must be an apple tree."

And there, hanging tightly onto a thick branch, is a ruby red apple. It glows alluringly in the light. Ryuk drools a little.

". . Genesis two point eight."

". . hah?"

"From the Bible, when Adam eats the forbidden apple and regretfully dooms mankind. Sound. . familiar?"

"Funny how such a mundane thing can cause so much trouble," Ryuk muses, and it actually makes Near thing to _what_ mundane object Ryuk is referring to then dismissing Light as the second option because no way is he that clever, reaching out to try and touch the apple. His hand passes through, unable to handle a human object. He grumps while Near thinks. Not the apple, no. It was Adam's greed that drove it. Just like Light and the Death Note. If only he had shrugged of that temptation, not listened to the Snake that was Kira . . .

"Yes," Near concurs, but thinks that Ryuk is missing the point. It's not the object that causes the destruction. But the one who wields it.

* * *

END


End file.
